Encounters
by Three Nights Of Terror
Summary: As if being the cause for an innocent man's death wasn't enough, Jim Hawkins suddenly finds himself facing a certain spider phsyco, and the circumstances aren't good...Set a day or so after losng Arrow, but a while before reaching the planet. One-shot.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is going to be the single WEIRDEST fanfiction I've ever done. It's a one-shot, at least for now. Scroop is merely messing with the boy, he has no intention of actually DOING what he's proposing. It freaks Jim out big time, and I think it scares him.

This being all I have to say (at this point), so now I will begin my one-shot. My _first_ one-shot!

Setting: RLS Legacy shortly after losing Mr. Arrow, after Silver's pep talk. About two or three days after Pelusa. Just pretend it took awhile after that to get to Treasure Planet. Actual confrontation takes place in the galley larder.

The knife scuffed the potato again, shedding more peeling from the spongy flesh. It joined the others on the floor, creating a small pile. Knife in hand, Jim Hawkins continued this minimal task for what seemed to be the thousandth time. Most of the potatoes were already peeled and cleaned, and sitting in a plastic bucket near his boot. Grief made him hunch over his work, and again and again he used the sleeve of his jacket to wipe away his tears.

_It's all my fault,_ he thought miserably, grief filling his chest, and weighing down his shoulders ever more. _If I had just double-checked that blasted lifeline…_He knew by now, of course, that such thinking was useless. Mr. Arrow was lost. There was nothing that could be done, nothing whatsoever. And it was all because of his stupid mistake.

In a fit of rage, he threw down his knife, and kicked out at the bucket, sending it's contents spilling across the floor.

"Why couldn't I just do it _right_?" He fumed aloud, jumping up and running his hands through his hair angrily. Hot tears streamed down his face, and he bit his lip to force them back. He was used to doing this by now. He forced himself to breathe steadily for a few moments, until he got a grip. "I'm such an _idiot_."

"Cabin boy…" A deep voice came from behind him, and he whirled around. A huge, six-legged form was blocking his only exit. He lifted his chin defiantly.

"What do _you_ want?" _Spider-psycho._ He added mentally. Scroop's yellow eyes glowed as he glared down at the boy.

"It'sss your fault we lossst Mr. Arrow." He taunted. "Who elssse are you planning to dissspose of?"

"You should really do something about that lisssp." Jim glared back evenly at the insectisoid, balling his hands into fists. His eyes darted towards the knife he'd dropped. He'd give anything to have it in hand now.

"Why you impudent little-" Scroop started, but he stopped when he followed the boy's eyes towards the potential weapon. "Ssso…cabin boy wantsss to fight?" He taunted darkly. A look of extreme distaste crossed Jim's face.

"As if I'd waste my time." Scroop lashed out at Jim with his massive claws, but the teen jumped to one side and bolted. Scroop was still blocking the doorway to the galley, so he fled through the only other door he could see, which led into the kitchen. He heard the sound of not two, but six feet coming after him, and he hastily threw over a large barrel of purps behind him.

Where could he run now? There was no way he could fight Scroop. And Morph wasn't here to help him this time. He'd been with Silver ever since they'd cleared the black hole. _Silver! _He thought desperately as he bolted towards another door. _I need help!_ But unless the cyborg was telepathic as well as a good cook, there was little he could do for his cabin boy now.

Jim collided with a shelf, and was horrified to find that he had run straight into the larder. He was cornered.

He turned to see Scroop's dark silhouette on the wall outside the door. He looked around wildly, and his eyes landed on a small space beneath the shelves mostly used for storing pots and pans that were of no use. It was mostly empty. He dove for it, and rolled onto his side. He held his breath as his tormenter stalked into the room. His heart was pounding so hard he could've sworn Scroop would hear it, but apparently he was wrong. The spider-like alien examined the small room, turned, and left. Jim sighed, relieved. But his reprieve was cut short as the door slammed shut and locked. He gasped, staring at it. _No!_ He dared not move. He slowly counted to thirty, and slowly edged himself out from the storage compartment. He looked around, and found that he was alone. It was incredibly dark, but then it was after sunset, so no surprise there.

He stood up, and cautiously walked towards the door. He pressed his ear to the cold metal, and heard nothing. His hands felt their way down the door, until he found the handle. He tried to turn it, but it was locked. Then he frowned. That was weird, he felt a switch. Why would Scroop lock the door if he could easily _un_lock it from the inside? He caught his breath suddenly. _Unless_-

A dark chuckle came from above him, and to his utmost terror, he watched, frozen, as Scroop slowly descended from the roof.

"Sssomeone needs to teach you a lessson, boy." He said, his voice full of malice. Jim came to his senses, and turned sharply, his hands fumbling to relocate the door handle and the lock. But Scroop grabbed his shoulder before he had a chance, and before he honestly knew what was happening, Scroop hand him pinned down on the floor. He snapped open his claw, and held it to Jim's neck.

Suddenly, a new light came to his eyes. One that gave Jim chills. Scroop moved his claw to finger the parting of his shirt just over his chest, which was partially split open. "It seemsss unfair for a lad sssuch as yourssself to die _inexperienced_." Jim's eyes flew open wide, and he began kicking out savagely. He caught Scroop off guard, knocking him away, and he once again took refuge under the shelves.

"Help! Silver! Morph, Doc, somebody, help!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. Scroop caught his boot, and dragged him out from under the shelf.

"I'm doing you a favor, cabin boy." A twisted leer covered his fanged-face as he thrust his left claw towards Jim's belt, and caught the buckle.

"Get off me, you psychotic _freak_!" Jim cried out. He was freaking out big time now. He knew girls got caught in this, ah…_situation_. Why _him_? He felt something sharp pinch his thigh, and he yelped. The alien tore his jacket from his arms.

"Ssstop squirming!" Scroop snapped, but Jim bit down on one of his claws, causing his attacker to hiss in pain. "You ungrateful little-" Jim kicked him in the jaw, and leapt up, running for the door. Scroop tackled him from behind, putting one arm around both of Jim's so that he could barely move. Scroop seized a hold of his belt again, and it came undone easily.

"Stop it!" Jim shouted, "Let me go!" His tone was pleading, almost begging. He fought with all his might, and Scroop hurled him against the wall. He still hand a firm hold on Jim's shirt, though, and yanked it over his head as he did. He dropped it on the wooden floor, and smirked at the bare-chested teen cowering in the corner.

Feeling slightly cold without his shirt, Jim shivered. His belt lay by the door to the larder, and he shuddered. He couldn't believe this was happening. The only things he still had on were his cargo pants, socks, and one boot. He looked up as he felt a wave of panic sweep over him.

"No…no, please! Please, don't-"

"Shut up." Scroop snarled, and Jim instantly became silent. He swallowed hard, feeling tears rising in his eyes. "You're a pathetic wassste of ssskin." He grabbed Jim's wrist, twisting it backwards. "Don't you agree?" Jim nodded, slowly at first, then frantically. The alien smirked again. "Sssuch a useless, worthless pieccce of garbage." Jim whimpered, and Scroop released his wrist. Jim cradled it, feeling a bruise forming. "You'd better behave. No more missstakes…underssstand?" Jim nodded, hugging his wrist to his chest, and looked away, shutting his eyes tight. Tears cascaded down his cheeks.

"Just don't…" He couldn't say it. Just _thinking_ about it scared him to the point where he could barely think. "Please, leave me alone…please…" He sniffled, and waited in agonizing shame. Nothing. Not even a hiss. He looked up, and was surprised to see that he was alone.

Jim wiped his eyes with his bare wrist, and tried desperately to calm down. He looked up, half fearing that Scroop was merely toying with him. But no, he was well and truly gone. Jim buried his head in his knees, and rocked himself back and forth. He couldn't help it. He cried quietly for who knew how long, before he was able to get up and walk steadily again.

He pulled his shirt back on, then his belt, his boot (which had come loose during the struggle), and finally his jacket. He left the larder, and walked cautiously into the kitchen. The purps had been picked up, and the barrel refilled. A soft glow came from the galley, and when he walked in, he saw Silver finishing his own former task.

Peeling potatoes.

Silver looked up, and gave a soft smile.

"Jimbo, lad. Thought ya went ta the crew's quarters by no'. 'Tis late, laddo." Jim nodded slowly. Should he- no. _Could_ he tell Silver what had almost happened? Scroop had…he was going to…Jim refused to use the word. He flat out refused. "Jimbo?" Jim looked up.

"Wha…huh?"

"I said, are ya feelin' alrigh'?" Jim swallowed.

"Silver…there's…um, there's something I gotta tell you." he said. His voice came out barely louder than a whisper.

"An what 'twould tha' be?" Silver wiped off the blade that was part of his mechanical arm. Jim bit his lower lip so hard that he tasted blood. What if he told Silver, and he ended up thinking less of him? He'd worked so hard these last few months. He and Silver had become so close. The cyborg was the father he'd never had. No, he couldn't run the risk of losing what little respect the cook had for him. Especially not now. He also feared what Scroop might do to him if anyone found out. He hadn't said to keep their confrontation a secret. He hadn't had to. Jim knew that was what he wanted.

Besides, nothing _serious_ had happened. Scroop hadn't actually hurt him. Jim made up his mind.

"I, uh…I forgot to sharpen the knives you told me to clean last night." He said, looking up. Silver's mechanical eye was burning gold, and he frowned, looking puzzled.

"I didn' ask ya to clean anythin' last nigh', Jimbo." Jim feigned a smile.

"Oh. Well, I thought you did. Never mind then." Silver didn't look convinced.

"Jimbo…are ya feelin' better after…?" He meant the black hole. Jim still felt a load of grief for his mistake. His stupid, brainless, bone-headed mistake. He was also terrified of what Scroop had…insinuated.

"…yeah." Jim sighed, hanging his head. "I guess so." Silver regarded him carefully, and sighed.

"Alrigh', if ya say so." Jim started to pick up a potato, but Silver shook his head. "I think you've done enough for today, lad. Go on an' get some shut eye." Jim paused for a moment, and briefly considered arguing, but he knew it wouldn't do any good. He felt the back of his neck.

"Arlight. G'night." He froze. What had he just…?

"G'night, boyo." Jim felt a little bit better after hearing that. He walked up the stairs leading to the galley, and inhaled deeply as a cooling breeze met him. After savoring the refreshing air, he turned towards the crews quarters. He was exhausted, but it scared him to think of what might happen should Scroop find him alone again…

Shaking his head, Jim started for the doorway. He wouldn't be alone in the room with Scroop. The other spacers were down there as well, all asleep save the night watchman. Jim glanced around, but was relieved to see Israel Hands stalking along the bow of the ship.

The teen snuck silently into the room, and made his way quietly amongst the maze of hammocks. He slowly leaned back into the sturdy fabric, and slipped his jacket off of his shoulders. He folded it into a makeshift pillow, and slipped his boots off his feet. They made a soft thudding sound as they hit the floor, and he rolled onto his side.

Scroop was in his hammock, and his still form informed Jim that he, like all the other spacers, was asleep. Jim closed his eyes, and tried to erase the event from his mind. _It's okay,_ he told himself. _Nothing happened. You're alright, you're still alive, he didn't hurt you, it's okay. Nothing happened…nothing happened…nothing…happ…_

Jim Hawkins dozed off into a troubled sleep.

a/n: reviews plz


	2. Encounters: Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I was originally intending to make this into a one-shot, but due to all of you guys asking for more...here's chapter two! :)

Special thanks to:

Chapter 2

Jim crept cautiously through the cargo of the _Legacy_. A pipe hissed behind him, and he jumped. He held his breath until his heart stopped pounding, then swore. Ever since his encounter with Scroop, he'd been jumpy. True, the arachnid hadn't paid him any special attention since. But every time Jim had to go into the larder for anything, he was reminded of the nightmarish events that had unfolded there. But he kept his cool. After a few days, he was able to stop looking over his shoulder all the time. He'd dealt with bullies before, and treated Scroop like he had them. He avoided him at all costs, and when it couldn't be helped, such as when he was supposed to be sleeping in his hammock, he was careful not to sleep with his back to the arachnid. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that the problem wasn't totally gone.

As he rifled through the contents of kitchen supply crates below deck, his mind wandered to that morning. Morph, sensing his bad mood, had tried to lighten him up. As the teenager had been chopping up vegetables, Morph had suddenly tugged at his ponytail. He'd brushed the blob away at first, but that hadn't deterred him. He'd tugged at the boy's bangs next.

"Morph," Jim muttered, pushing him away. "Not now. I'm busy." Morph wouldn't give up though. His next move had been a bit more mischievous. He'd slid under the counter top where Jim was working, and had tied the strings of his apron to drawers on either side of him. Jim was oblivious, of course, until he'd gone to drop the vegetables into the large caldron. He yelped as his apron had yanked down unexpectedly on his neck, tripping him. There was the thundering sound of the large caldron crashing to the galley floor, which had caused Silver to come into the kitchen, and Jim looked up from where he'd fallen, holding his head where it had smacked into the countertop.

"Jimbo...?" Silver said, looking at him for an explanation. Jim glanced at the spilled contents of the caldron, then at his apron hanging from the kitchen drawers, then at Silver.

"...ow." Silver's mechanical eye began to glow red.

"What the devil are you doin' in 'ere, boy?" Jim glared at him.

"Hey, it wasn't my fault, I-"

"I don' wan' ta hear it!" Silver bellowed, and Jim fell silent. Silver held his breath, and after a moment, his cybernetic eye returned to it's neutral yellow glow. "Sorry lad." Jim gave him a half-hearted smile and shrugged. "I'll give ye a hand." He'd helped Jim clean up the mess, and then had sent him below decks to get a different caldron, one that wouldn't tip over so easily.

He poked through the crates, gripping the crowbar he'd brought with him as he looked around. As he was passing one of the crates, a flash of copper caught his eye.

"Ah. Okay then." He picked the crate up, but it was too heavy. He put the crowbar down and turned back to the crate, and set it down on the floor. Something shifted behind him, and he turned to see that the crowbar had moved. He rolled his eyes, smiling. "Gotcha!" he said as he snatched it, expecting more of Morph's tricks. But it didn't turn to pink gel. It didn't giggle and pull his hair. It was the real crowbar. He felt a chill run down his spine as he swallowed nervously, his mouth going dry. With shaking hands, he went back to his task of freeing the caldron. He gripped the crowbar tightly, prying the wood open. The top splintered into several large pieces, which he pushed aside. He gripped the copper caldron, and was about to lift it out of the crate when he heard what sounded like wood shifting. He turned sharply, noting that one large piece was missing.

"I thought I made it clear," a deep voice hissed from behind him. "No misssstakes!" Jim yelped, turning towards the door, but a thick, strong claw grasped the collar of his shirt, lifting him off the ground and jerking him backward. He clenched his eyes shut as he was slammed against a wall. He heard his attacker hiss, felt his breath on his neck. He swallowed, and forced himself to open his eyes. Sure enough, he found himself looking at his reflection in the eerie golden eyes of Scroop. His mouth tightened into a firm line.

"What do you want now?" Jim snapped. Scroop leered at him, pulling him further away from the ground. Jim kicked half-heartedly, knowing that struggling was useless at that point.

"We've been working all day, ssslaving away in the sssun," he hissed menacingly. "And we climb down in hopesss of getting a decent meal, only to find that our uselesss cabin boy hasss ssscrewed up again."

"No I didn't," Jim said in his defense. "I just- AH!" Jim yelped as Scroop swung at him with a fractured piece of the crate, catching him across the arm. He hissed in pain, rubbing his arm against the wall to stop the sting. Scroop threw him to the floor and swung at him again, this time landing a blow to the side of his neck and face. Tears sprang into his eyes, and he jumped backward, crawling away from the armed spacer. His back brushed up against a door, and he stared, wide-eyed with fear as Scroop came near him. He reached down and grabbed Jim by the neck of his shirt, and dragged him into what was once a small control room. The _Legacy _was an old ship, one that had once been operated by maintained computers in several rooms all over the ship. After it had been renovated to operate through a different console, the control rooms had been altered into store rooms. It was in such a room that they were in now. Scroop thrust Jim up against the far wall, and the boy held his arms up in front of him to protect himself.

"N-noo!" he yelped. "P-please, stop!"

"Silence," Scroop snarled in a low voice. "What did I sssaay?"

"N-no more m-misstakes." Jim repeated in a shaky voice. "I'm sorry, it wasn't my fault, I-" Scroop swung the club at him again, effectively halting all arguments. Jim yelped, and tried to get out the door, but Scroop caught him about the waist and hauled him back, delivering a series of sharp blows. The wood cracked each time it came into contact with his body. He dodged to the left, to the right, tried to crawl under Scroop, but each time he was thrown back against the wall and beaten more severely. Just when Jim thought that it couldn't get any worse, Scroop grabbed his shirt and pulled it off over his head. Without the fabric there to soften the blows, the pain was intensified. Jim looked up at Scroop, begging him to stop, promising that he'd be more careful. He'd have promised anything if he'd thought it would help. But Scroop wasn't done yet. Jim covered his head and neck with his arms, curling into a ball. Scroop grabbed his cargo pants by the hem and pulled. Jim felt them rip at the waistline, then felt the sharpened pain as the wood came down on his legs and back. Suddenly, they stopped. Cautiously, Jim looked around, keeping his eyes on the floor. Scroop was still standing there.

"Maybe your earss will work better from now on," he snickered darkly. Jim tenderly touched one of the angry red marks on his arms, and winced. Scroop grabbed him by his ponytail and jerked him upward, looking him in the eyes. "That isss, unlesss you want another meeting like thisss one." Jim glared at Scroop, aware of the tears that were running down his cheeks. His chest shuddered as he started sobbing, and he shut his eyes tight as his body began trembling uncontrollably.

"I'm sorry..." he whimpered again. "I..."

"Hush." Scroop said softly, and the boy jolted as the spacer suddenly..._hugged _him. He froze momentarily, shocked, but then felt the arachnid's claws moving for his waistline. Jim's pulse skyrocketed and he suddenly jumped away and backed up into the wall. Scroop let something akin to a hiss slip from his lips, mimicking a laugh. Then, just as suddenly as he'd appeared, he was gone.

Jim had never been so terrified in his life. He was shaking so hard, it felt like his body was out of his control, jerking in spasms. Everything hurt. He was terrified, and in places where the wood had scraped his skin, he was bleeding. The cold air on his skin made everything seem surreal. Like a nightmare come to life. This was worse than the larder. Much, much worse.

He bowed his head and cried.

"Jimbo?" Silver asked softly. The boy slowly turned towards the cyborg cook.

"Yeah?"

"Boyo, why are ye wearin' tha' jacket?" he asked. Jim glanced at his black leather jacket and shrugged.

"Because I'm cold...?" he replied sarcastically. Silver studied him for a moment. Something just wasn't with the boy. He thought that Jim had gotten over Arrow's death, but as of late, he was slinking around as if he were hiding from everyone. Was it out of guilt? Was it because he had yelled at him for spoiling the stew a few days before, and wasting all that food? Or was something else going on? Then again, if he was basically becoming a living shadow again, what else _could _be going on? Jim sighed irritably, pulling Silver out of his thoughts. "Do you have to stand there watching me every _second_?" The boy snapped. Silver looked at him sternly.

"Eh, none o' tha' no'." he chided. "Twas only askin' an honest question." Jim rolled his eyes.

"Whatever." That word again. Silver walked away from the boy, dismissing the change of attitude. If he wanted to be difficult, better to let him get it out of his system than to crack down on him and make it worse.

As soon as Silver had left, Jim glanced over at the pile of clean dishes he was accumulating. Biting his lip, he picked up a small knife, one of the sharpest in the kitchen. He stared at his distorted reflection in the blade, having second thoughts. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. It had occurred to him sometime after he'd hauled himself out of the storage room and had limped back into his clothes that if Scroop was doing these things as a way of punishing him, there might be a way to make him stop that didn't involve telling anyone. Inflicting injuries on himself.

Cutting.

He'd thought about it for awhile now. The bruises were fading. They still hurt a bit, but the visual marks were disappearing. Then he could stop wearing his stupid jacket, and stop being roasted alive while he was scrubbing the decks. He'd have to be careful, but he had known a girl that had cut before. She'd always worn tank tops and short-shorts, but she'd cut in the one place that no one ever thought to check. On her stomach, right under her breasts. Back then, he'd considered starting. He had to work at getting his nerve up to cut his own flesh, and in the end, he'd chickened out. But out of everything that could happen, he did _not_ want another beating from Scroop. They were horrible, and they left him smarting for days afterward. He felt so vulnerable now, whether Scroop was around or not. Later that night, Silver had gone below deck for something and had found the pieces of splintered wood. Thinking that Jim had been the one that had left them there, he'd ordered him to go back and clean it up. _That_ had been torture. But once again, he'd done everything he could to keep it a secret. There was _definitely _no way he was telling Silver now.

What would he say? The first time, he might have been able to say that Scroop had snuck up on him in the larder, and that he'd had no way of knowing what Scroop was capable of. But now? Now he _knew_ what Scroop wanted. He should have been protecting himself better. He should have known better. That's what Silver would probably say if he told him. And then the look of pity would come. The same look he'd given Jim when he'd commented on how his father had left.

No. He couldn't take that. He would rather take Scroop's beatings than Silver's pity. He didn't care what Scroop thought of him, but he _did_ care about what Silver thought of him.

He swallowed the lump forming in his throat, and rolled up his shirt. Just under his chest was a large bruise that was turning scarlet. He pressed the blade against his skin, feeling the razor edge threatening him. He drew in a deep breath...and pulled suddenly.

Immediately, he gasped out in pain, and instinctively placed his hand over it, pressing hard. It stung, it _burned_, and the bruise was smarting now as well. When he opened his eyes again, he glanced down at his trembling hand and saw blood. Not a lot, it wasn't like he'd gutted himself, but there was still blood. He had a sudden memory of himself when he was still very young. He'd been playing outside their house, before they'd moved to the Benbow Inn, and he'd cut his knee open on a sharp rock. It had been a tiny cut, but at the time he'd cried like a baby. His father had come running out of the house, but when he saw what had happened, he'd been angry.

"You stop that!" He'd scolded fiercely. "Stop that now! That's nothing to cry about! Keep it up and I'll _give_ you something to cry about!" His tone, of course, had scared him even more, and he hadn't been able to stop crying, so his dad had given him a spanking with his belt right then and there.

"Thomas!" His mother had screamed. "Tom, leave him alone!" She ran out to them and pulled a very tearful Jim away from her husband. "He's only a little boy!"

"No son of mine is going to cry like that, Sarah." Tom had replied. Jim had bitten down on is lips to keep himself from crying, but now it was harder, and therefore impossible. Sarah had taken him inside and kissed his knee and put a band-aid on it, and had tried to calm him down, but all Jim could think of was what his father had said. _No son of mine is going to cry like that._ It felt like he was saying Jim wasn't his son.

Jim jumped when he realized tears were forming in his eyes _again_. He growled angrily and brushed them away. A new fear leapt at him, seemingly from nowhere. What if Silver was like his dad? Scroop was only leaving bruises, not doing any permanent damage. If Silver found out...what if he...? Jim shoved the thought away, and wiped away the blood coming from the cut.

Something was different now. It was as if part of the fear he'd felt had diminished. He remembered that girl telling him about that, too. About how good it felt to have some authority of who hurt her, about how much she bled, about how the pain felt. She did it for control. But he would do it to protect himself. He lined the knife up next to his skin again, pressing it tight once more. His hands weren't shaking anymore. They were steady. Calm. His anxiety was less now than it had been in weeks. In fact, he felt almost normal. A small, mirthless smile formed on his lips as he envisioned what his dad would say if he could see him now. He wasn't crying.

He pulled the knife again.

A/N: A Tiny bit shorter than I usually push for, but I'm happy with it. Hope I didn't overdo anything, either. Review!


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